


nothing's wrong when nothing's true

by rannas



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Flashbacks, Flashbacks of vague pregame versions of characters, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Not A Fix-It, Past Relationship(s), Pre-Game Personalities (New Dangan Ronpa V3), Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:35:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27722210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rannas/pseuds/rannas
Summary: Every physical touch leads to some strange memory surfacing in Kokichi Ouma's mind and he's not sure what they mean or what to make of them.Or if they even really matter in the end.
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 11
Kudos: 52





	nothing's wrong when nothing's true

Nothing particularly noteworthy happened when he touched Keebo. Minus the robot panicking and running away. But he can’t help himself. It was a robot after all. Which was super cool. But there was a weird feeling that lingered after his skin brushed against the metallic body of the Ultimate Robot. That feeling you got when something wasn’t quite right. Like a video game where you are waiting for a jump scare but one never came. Unease. He got a similar feeling when some peppy blonde girl and emo boy with a hat came up to him and expected an introduction. His own name felt slippery on his own tongue and while a talent came immediately to mind, something about it felt strange as well. _Kokichi Ouma, the Ultimate Supreme Leader._ Who the hell was that? But he played off any confusion with jokes and lies, easily flustering the two who also seemed to think his talent was weird. Both the boy and the girl look slightly familiar. Akamatsu-chan and Saihara-chan. But they don’t seem to recognize him. For some reason, he thought of big robots and kids in normal school uniforms in a gym. The image faded, he must still be out of it. He smiled widely at the two of them, unwilling to show any signs that part of him was freaking out just a little bit. Something strange was going on and he wasn’t going to let his guard down. Not until he found out more. After all, maybe this could be the fun kind of weird and he was just feeling funny from being stuffed in a locker.

It wasn't. 

* * *

The first time it happened, Akamatsu-chan patted him on the shoulder and he felt a jolt through his entire body. His vision blacked for a moment and he saw something that wasn’t the courtyard of the prison school. 

_An unfamiliar place filled with people around their age. Before him was Akamatsu… well kind of. She is dressed differently, just a normal school uniform, no music notes or anything like that. It looks familiar and foreign all at once. He is listening to her talk to someone else, they are turned and he can’t see them. Her face is the same and yet not at all. This isn’t the kind and enthusiastic Akamatsu-chan. Her plum eyes are not full of determination but boredom and annoyance. She rolls her eyes and shrugs at whoever she’s talking to. The room is abuzz with people talking but he can hear her oh so clearly._

_“Yeah… whatever… I think I’ll totally get picked. After all, who better than someone like me who doesn’t care about anyone else. Like I told them in there, I have no faith in humanity. I’m perfect for Danganronpa. Well, good luck I guess.” The blonde girl with dead eyes walked away and as she passed him on her way out gave an insincere sort of smile in his direction._

He blinked. Before him was the usual Akamatsu-chan. Brimming full of energy and trying to make amends for the whole Death Road of Despair incident. But he’s not listening any more. He just looked at her, the Akamatsu from that vision and her superimposed on each other. That _feeling_ came back. The same one he felt when he looked at Keebo or thought about his talent too much. Like something isn’t right, something wasn’t adding up. How did Akamatsu-chan’s hand on his shoulder put a vision in his head like that? That can’t be normal. But nothing here is normal.

Akamatsu tried talking to him again and he joked about her forgetting him. But all she seemed was annoyed. Did she not have that memory? Of some strange place where they both were for some reason? But despite puffing out her cheeks and looking all annoyed, she comes back. But this time, Ouma asked her to join his organization and she refused. Not only to his offer but refused to believe that he was actually the Ultimate Supreme Leader. She said it was just common sense. Funny. He told her that common sense was funny, it had lots of names but who were they to say who’s version of the truth was the right one. But she’s stubborn and doesn’t get it. No way she will be able to help him figure out what’s really going on here. Being deadset in your own “common sense” was a mistake. And more importantly, messing with Akamatsu would serve him no more purpose. 

A dead end. 

* * *

Akamatsu-chan did not provide him any insight and that memory still bothered him. The Akamatsu-chan with cruel and uncaring eyes still floating around his head nonstop. And the only person here who seemed to have some sort of idea that everything inside this place was capital W Weird was Amami-chan. So he sought him out. The green haired boy was hanging around the foyer by himself. Strange enough but there really wasn’t all that much to do in this stupid place. So he skipped over to him and grabbed his arm playfully. It was a mistake. The moment they collided his vision went black again. 

_A small TV in a room he recognizes but doesn’t. There is a sole figure on the screen. The image is clear. It’s Amami-chan. In different clothes. But still there is no mistaking his tousled green hair and intense eyes. He is crying and a voice is speaking over the image. “The final survivor of this season….”_

“Whoa watch out there Ouma-kun. You okay?” His vision cleared and he found himself on the floor. He must have fallen right after latching on to Amami-chans arm and blacked out. The boy was offering him a hand to help him up but he ignored it. This was just like when Akamatsu-chan touched him. That same way his vision disappeared and in its place came a weird memory and a sense of unease that made his stomach curl. He doesn’t want to risk any more of that. He jumped up and told his best outlandish lies to Amami-chan hoping to spark something from the boy who claimed to remember almost nothing. It didn’t work. He didn’t get all annoyed and huffy about it like Akamatsu-chan though, just laughed it off like Ouma was just a little brother trying to get a rise out of him. 

Another dead end.

* * *

He never got the chance to mess with them more. Amami-chan ended up with his head bashed in thanks to Akamatsu-chan and in turn she ended up being hung and crushed on some giant piano thanks to Monokuma. A shame. Now there was no turning back away from this whole Killing Game. And two of the most interesting people were gone because of it. He’d never figure out those strange memories after all. He’s curious if that phenomenon was linked to the two of them. Would touching his other classmates also put those strange visions in his head? He wanted to know but he also was haunted by the strange Akamatsu and Amami in his head. So he doesn’t. At least not for now, not when he still didn't understand what all they meant. 

The school opened up more and with it more labs and space to explore. But it also provided something else. A strange flashlight that Monokuma told them was a Flashback Light that would help restore the memories they had lost. Ouma bit his lip… was that the same as what had been happening to him? Little flashes of something that felt so real and yet did not seem to fit at all. They turned on the light and he felt something pulse through his body, a brilliant white light and he remembered the Ultimate Hunt. He saw himself, hiding from people pursuing him, discarding his life as the Ultimate Supreme Leader. And beyond that… he felt nothing. None of the strange pangs of unease that accompanied the other two visions. And not only that, Ouma was IN this vision. In the others, he wasn’t. It was through his own eyes when those weird moments happened… and this wasn’t. Weird. He’s not sure how to feel about it. Cruel and uncaring Akamatsu-chan and crying Amami-chan on the tv made less sense… but they felt more real. He was curious but thinking about those memories made his chest tighten and stomach turn dangerously. Like his body was warning him of something, like it knew something his mind didn't know yet. 

Why?

* * *

Lying comes easy to him. And he doesn’t question it. Not like everything else. Everything here bothers him, but he plays it off as if it doesn't. It was easy. He was too scared to try touching the others and seeing if the pattern continued, so he resorted to messing with them. Joking and teasing to figure out just what pressed their buttons. After all, if he could figure them out… he could make sure no one else ended up dead like the other two. And what better way than to see just how to get under their skin. That way he would know just what made them tick. Gonta was quick to work out. He was sweet and gullible and the perfect guy to use to get stuff done that would need to get done. After all, he was going to make sure there were no more nasty killings. No more Amami-chan’s with bashed in skulls or hung and smashed Akamatsu-chan’s. 

The opportunity came quickly enough to use Gonta. Another motive had been dropped in their laps. Videos that had been shuffled around amongst them. Of course, they should all watch them together and that way everyone would be held accountable. Can’t be tempted to kill if everyone knew what you’d be killing for. It was obvious. But the others got all weird about it and refused. Only Hoshi-chan seemed willing to look at everyone's. So dumb. They were all falling into the traps of this game oh so easily. First Akamatsu-chan and now the others were letting themselves be sucked into this game. He hated it. No one made him play games he didn't want to play. So he would end it. And that meant doing whatever it took to make sure these videos didn't cause a problem. 

He had his own video so that was one mystery solved. His talent checked out so whatever weird feeling he got about that was something else. But the video felt hollow as well. Upon seeing the faces of his little crew, his mind was flooded with that same white light and he remembered so much more of his past. Of his ten followers... His family… and the things they did together. He had lost count of the number of times he watched that stupid little video on repeat, hands gripping tight on the side of the tablet. He wished it was real. Wished that those names and faces that came easily into his mind after watching the video were real. But they are strange puzzle pieces that don't seem to fit anywhere else no matter how much he tried to force them into the holes left in his brain. They didn't belong in there no matter how much he wanted them to. But he watched it again and again anyway. 

What he really wanted to see was Harukawa-chan’s video. He could spot lies as easily as he could tell them. And Maki Harukawa was a liar. She had refused to let anyone in her lab and been standing there at all hours. He knew she was lying about her talent. Ultimate Child Caregiver his ass. Those scary eyes told a different story. One he would totally find out. But she does leave her post so he took his chance the moment she did. He did not dare linger but his suspicions were immediately confirmed as he saw the room stacked with weapons. Harukawa was suspicious and dangerous. 

As dangerous as it is he kept bothering her. Coming by her lab as she stood guard. Hoping to get some sort of rise out of her to see just what buttons he needed to push to expose her little secret. But as dangerous as he and that room were he never accounted for the other danger she could hold. One time as he laughed before walking away, her hand grabbed his wrist at lightning speed and twisted. The pain shot through his body as the darkness enveloped his mind for the third time. 

_This place smells damp and awful, the wallpaper was peeling off the walls. The lights are yellow and sickly and he is sitting on the hard, dirty floor arms wrapped around his knees. A girl with red eyes and dark hair approaches. It’s Harukawa-chan. But her gaze is kind, worried. She sits next to him and leans her head against his shoulder. She mutters "It's gonna be okay." He gives a soft "Yeah" in response. But neither of them sound convinced. But the contact is nice enough to make it not matter all so much. A small fragment of comfort in this hopeless place._

The real Harukawa released his arm with a snarl. Ouma rubbed it mindlessly pretending to be upset about the injury. She said some sort of scary threat and Ouma jokingly replied as childishly as he can muster. But all that was really on his mind was wondering just how those scary red eyes looked so soft and sweet in that stupid vision. He’s afraid to call it a memory. That would be acknowledging these as real after all. But as he wandered the school, he can’t stop his brain from replaying those stupid little flashes. They happened with physical contact and felt way different than the flashback lights. He bit on his thumb, twice was a coincidence. Three times was a problem. And why was this not happening to anyone else?

And he wasn’t sure if he wanted to find out. 

* * *

The Insect Meet and Greet was a mistake. He was supposed to solve the stupid little motive issue and stop any murders from happening. It should not have ended with him being surrounded by those awful, terrible creepy-crawly nuisances. No matter how much he yelled and tried to escape. Gonta stood by the door lecturing on and on about how great and wonderful all these awful things were. He thrashes around on the floor and Gonta panicked worried he would smash some of his precious little insects. Gonta reached down and grabbed Ouma’s arm to stop him from flailing about. Despite his strength, the touch was surprisingly gentle. But it didn’t matter. The world still spun and turned black around him.

_A large boy with wild hair stood in the middle of a convenience store. It’s Gonta and around him is destruction. There’s anger in his eyes. An anger he’s only seen a sliver of before. He pushes over another shelf with ease and candy and chips fall and scatter across the floor. Some worker is yelling and he is backing away, scared of this boy who loomed over the destruction he had caused in the store. He's begging him to stop and that he doesn't need to do this but his words fall on deaf ears and another shelf hits the ground. He wants him to stop but he doesn't know how, doesn't know what to do. He is worried about Gonta but there is nothing he can do like this. He runs and hopes Gonta will follow, but he knows he won't._

Gonta must have taken pity on him after he blacked out for a moment. He told him he learned his lesson and Ouma lied easily about how he totally understood bugs now. The scary Gonta from his mind still lingering, making him flinch every time Gonta moves. But real Gonta either didn’t notice or said nothing, merely wished him goodnight and went back to making sure all of those nasty creatures were okay before he left his lab. Another person who seemed unaffected by whatever was affecting him. Ouma felt dizzy yet again for more than one reason. His skin crawled with phantom sensations of tiny legs and antennas. His mind swirled with the strange versions of the classmates he thought he knew. 

Bugs. Stupid memories he doesn’t quite understand. All a big mistake. He knew now that these stupid little flashes were no coincidence. He’s sure they are memories. But he doesn’t want them to be. He can’t waste time thinking about some past outside of this place. Surviving and winning were all that mattered here. 

He was not going to let that happen again. 

* * *

Ouma did not take into account that provoking Harukawa would once again have him placed in her clutches. She moved too fast for him to dodge and as the fingers closed around his windpipe his vision blackened for a moment in a way that was becoming all too familiar. 

_The red-eyed girl is moving closer. But not at lightning-fast speeds. Harukawa moves slowly. Her eyes are soft with tears. It’s a little different than the last room but he thinks it’s the same place. The paint is chipped and the smell is still awful. The girl's arms wrap around him and his wrap around hers in turn. They squeeze together and things don’t seem all that bad. "I'll miss you." She mutters and he returns the sentiment. He's leaving whatever this place was for good now. It's bittersweet. The other faces are blurry but he hears tears and farewells and his eyes are burning as he turns away from Harukawa and the other faceless figures._

He acted as if he wasn’t internally shaken up from that strange vision in his head. Ouma looked at Harukawa with the venom that the one in his memory didn’t deserve. This one did. This one was a killer. And lied about it. An assassin in a killing game was just some kind of gross cheat that made everything worse and he wouldn’t let that happen. Her grip tightened and he felt even more lightheaded. She could kill him easily like this, dangled over the ground. This Harukawa with the deadly eyes was no friend. No matter what weird memories in his brain tried to soften her. The others stop her. He hated this game. But the rules at least kept him safe. The rules were important after all. And so was keeping an eye on Harukawa. From a safe distance at least. He can tell that the place where she held him would bruise, his throat ached from being constricted for so long. He tried to remove that kind and comforting Harukawa from his mind. Flush away her kind red eyes along with the other versions of familiar people that kept popping up in his mind. He can’t trust those thoughts just like he can’t trust anyone in this stupid place. He tried and tried to make his mind clear and remove those strange memories. 

But it doesn’t work.

* * *

Shuichi Saihara was interesting. Well, not at first. At first, all he did was hide under his stupid hat and follow Akamatsu-chan around. But then he was able to turn her in for her crimes despite clearly being all distraught over it. And then again he solved the murder of Hoshi-chan’s murder quite cleverly as well without getting sucked into Toujo-chans big ole guilt trip. He was the hardest one of all the students here to figure out. And it only got harder when Saihara started seeking him out. He handed him surprisingly thoughtful gifts and asked to spend time with him. So he did what he did best and tested him. 

But he was careful, he never let their fingers graze or shoulders touch or anything like that. He didn't need weird visions of Saihara-chan in his mind when he’s already so hard to figure out. The memories of Harukawa-chan were quite enough. He had been close enough already at the Insect Meet and Greet. Hovering over the boy without letting any bit of him touch the detective. Close enough to see those long lashes and striking eyes up close. Close enough to know that Shuichi Saihara was not only interesting but extremely attractive. This only got worse as they spent more and more time together and he found himself becoming more and more fond of the awkward detective. He continued to surprise him at every turn and he knew he needed to be oh so careful because of just how much that interested him. 

But Ouma is also a reckless person by nature as well, he craved excitement almost as much as he craved victory. And he can’t help but bring out that knife and let it dance between his fingers as Saihara watched on in horror. And it slipped and it hurt and as much as he regretted the pain, he regretted what happened next even more. The knife clattered out of his hand and blood began to cover his hand and he heard Saihara shout but what was worse was him reaching out, grabbing the hand that he had sliced. His vision darkened and the world swirled as another strange memory played in his head. 

_Golden eyes hidden under the brim of a hat. Dark hair sweeping across his forehead. It’s undoubtedly Saihara-chan. He moves closer. And he thinks he is moving as well. Their faces are so close and he feels himself lifting up on his toes as the other boy's face is lowering. His hands are on his hips, balancing as they close the tiny distance slowly. And in what feels like forever and instant, their lips are touching. Pressing and moving against each other with some sort of desperation. His hands are in his hair, pulling and pushing him in……_

The world titled again and he’s back in the courtyard. Saihara was gone and he should run. But he’s dizzy. His stomach is turning sourly and his heart is racing so fast he assumed this must be what a heart attack felt like. He’s frozen in place, not even feeling the sting of the cut on his finger that was still freely oozing dark red blood across the table. And it was too late, Saihara was back and he couldn't escape, not while his mind was still not quite connecting right to his body. Maybe he was a robot just like Keeboy and Saihara-chan short-circuited him. The blood still pouring from his open wound however meant that couldn’t be the case, unfortunately. Saihara had a medical kit now and was going to bandage his wounds. Ouma wanted to object, to fight back and say he would do it himself but his body had stopped listening to his brain. The touches are frequent and not prolonged but it still sends his mind reeling into that strange blackness of strange pictures of some other version of Saihara every time their skin touches. As they rushed into his brain like hail pelting onto a windshield, he laughed. Laughed and laughed as strange images floated into his brain, pieces of something that he does not recognize and yet felt oh so familiar.

_…. Hands grazed over a shared bowl of popcorn and they laugh nervously before staring back at the tv…._

_… Shoulders bump together down a busy city street under a shared umbrella as the rain pours all around them, but he smiles at him and the rain doesn’t matter…._

_… Fingers touch as they read a magazine full of blurry words and pictures but with a smile, the boy in the hat grabs his hands and interlaces their fingers…_

_… Blankets and fairy lights hang above them and they are talking. Well, the other boy is talking. Golden eyes are intense and hands accentuate his words and he listens, hanging hopelessly on every word coming from his mouth...._

_.... He’s spinning, a cool hand on his own leading him as he does. There’s music playing but all he can really hear is the rapid beat of his own heart as the dance around a small bedroom adorned with posters he can’t quite see. He falls into the other boy's chest dizzy and they laugh, still intertwined in each other…._

_… He’s crying and the boy in the hat quickly wraps his arms around him and rubs his back in slow circles…_

_… He is leaning against another boy on the couch. They are in t-shirts and sweatpants. Cozy as the other ran his fingers through his hair slowly and muttered something soft and sweet in his ear…_

_… He is watching him, warmth in his golden eyes. He asks him what he’s doing and he just laughs and laughs, and it sounds like the ringing of bells…._

“There. all done.” And by the grace of something, maybe Yonaga-chan’s god granted him this one mercy, Saihara was done and released his hand. A white bandage was now wrapped neatly around the lower part of his ring finger on his left hand. His head was still swimming as he joked with Saihara, claiming to have won their little game. Which Saihara seemed to buy. But Ouma knew that he was the real loser. Even while talking those stupid little visions were dancing through his head on repeat. The grin plastered on his face threatening to slip off at any moment 

Saihara reached out his hand and Ouma knew he wanted him to reach back. For there to be some final understanding between the two of them. But that’s not possible. Saihara doesn’t have those memories and can never really understand. Even if he told him. He would assume it was a lie, that Ouma was messing with him. Even if he wanted to tell him. It was better that way. He didn't take his hand, just smiled wryly as Saihara’s face fell in response. Ouma couldn’t afford any more of those memories clouding his thoughts, making his chest tighten and ache in ways that made him dizzy all over again. This was the last event at least, he had warned Saihara-chan after all. No more one on one time with Shuichi Saihara. There would be no more touching or anything dangerous like that. No more thinking about these memories at all. He had more important things to think about. Things he had to do. 

It was better this way. 

* * *

Wax figures did not trigger any sort of awful weird thoughts popping into his head. Thank goodness. He ran his fingers over the eerily realistic wax creation of his dead classmate. It was a gamble, but he figured Amami-chan was a safe bet to test out whatever was going on with him. After all, he was key to everything that was going on. At least he thought so. The growing collection of plans and notes and evidence in his room all seemed to point that way at least. He’s too scared to test his luck with the bodies. Touching a corpse, in general, was out of the question. Ouma was a curious person by nature, he wouldn’t have gotten this far without that. But his distaste at death, murder, and corpses were enough to keep him from sniffing around dead bodies. As it should be for any normal person. He’d leave that nonsense to Saihara and Harukawa. He could find clues without that. So he jumped into the whole seance nonsense and he’s faced with another dead body. And his mind began racing in turn. He didn’t care for Yonaga and her stupid student council. Nor did he care much for Chabashira and her distaste of men. But he did not like seeing them dead. That pissed him off. It kept happening too fast. Before he could get a read on this game before he could find a way to shut it down. He would find out who did this. It wouldn’t end here. But his determination to investigate all he could met a firm roadblock in the form of a plank of wood in a dark room. 

_Pain. Pain. Pain._ His head was on fire and a similar darkness to those stupid memories began creeping up in the sides of his vision. He walked out of the room and he stumbled. Air pushed out of his lungs as he collapsed face-first onto the floor. If only he could let the shadowy blackness in the edge of his vision just consume him. Just lay there. But he heard footsteps so he composed himself enough to look up with the widest grin he can manage. He can feel warm blood dripping down his forehead and the Saihara in front of him seemed to blur at the edges. That wasn’t good. But Little Miss Assassin was there too and he could think of nothing worse than either of them managing to touch him. He cryptically shared his discoveries and the two of them were deep in thought and kept their distance. It’s what he wanted of course but it still stung a bit. Here he was covered in blood and pretty sure swaying in place and neither of the other two seemed to even blink an eye. The other versions of Saihara and Harukawa that he could still see swimming in his head would never ignore him like this. Those versions with the glances as soft and sweet as cotton candy and touches as light and gentle as the spring rain. Nothing like the detective and assassin before him now that he could barely keep his eyes focused on. The announcement played and Ouma staggered off to the bathroom so he could clean up before the trial. His head ached and his body felt numb but it didn’t matter, not when there was a trial. At least he avoided another one of those strange memories. He had too much else for his sluggish brain to process to deal with one of those right now. 

That was too close. 

* * *

The memory of that desolate wasteland felt the same as the flashback lights and his motive video. Hollow and empty. Too bright. They fluttered into his head and hung like gaudy holiday decorations, temporary and ultimately meaningless. The other memories sunk into him like a heavy syrup, permeating every thought, and every dream. They were heavy and permanent. Unmovable. Dark stains on wooden floors that would not come off no matter how long and hard you scrubbed. 

He’s almost afraid to discern the difference. Reality and fiction blending into some gross concoction in his mind. The strange counterparts of people that existed in his mind haunted him constantly. He hated it. He decided he was done with those memories once and for all. Both the dark and too real ones and the light and fake ones. And he thought he could avoid them all but he was proven wrong all too quickly. 

Momota-chan’s fist contacted his face and the all too familiar nausea that accompanied the swirling darkness overrode any pain he could feel at first as he fell to the ground from the impact. 

_Another Momota-chan is glaring at him. But it's a different sort of glare. It’s twisted. The tall boy is enjoying the others cheering him on while he scrambles away panicked, trying to hide in the corner of some strange classroom. Momota-chan approaches and laughs a terrible sort of laugh and his arm comes swinging colliding with his jaw. He falls to the ground and some other faceless figures join in laughing. He doesn't move. He just sits there and lets them laugh as his face stung. The only one who meets his eye is Momota, he doesn't seem to be enjoying it as much as the others, not anymore._

How strange. It’s the first one of these awful things that was all too close to reality. But even if not-Momota was still swinging his fist at him, there was no denying he was different from the one talking to him now. He rubbed the spot on his jaw, feeling like he actually did get punched twice. He’s tired. And his brain hurt as much as his jaw. His insides felt like the wastelands of that awful outside world, dry and fiery and utterly empty. He can't think about the other-Momota right now. He has other stuff to do. Ouma wishes he could stop, just let his brain turn off for one moment. Be free of plans and ideas and the constant barrage of memories playing on repeat. But he couldn’t stop. Not when he had gotten this far. 

He’s tired of this place. This game. It has to end. 

* * *

He wanted to laugh. Really. How funny that Iruma-chan’s plan involved touching him to be able to murder him. Even though she had no idea how terrifying that thought actually was. Almost as bad as getting killed before ending this game. Not quite of course. But he definitely didn’t need some weird thoughts about that murderous bitch running through his head. Whatever those would be. He had the inventions she had oh so kindly agreed to make for him and he wanted nothing else. Even if part of him wondered what sort of strange version of Iruma-chan could exist in his mind. 

He doesn’t know. And he wasn’t going to find out. Iruma was not going to get her way. Even if it meant dirtying his own hands in a way he knew he could never ever take back. It’s too easy. He should have known. This game trapped you wrapped you in its clutches. Stole away any chance you had of leaving unscathed. They were all guilty in the end. He knew he was. But he walked into that trial room knowing he needed to live even if the ends did not justify the means. It was all for show so he'd put on the best damn show they'd ever seen before shoving in back in their stupid fucking faces when he finally succeeded. 

Crying and lying Gonta was worse than the one in his memories. The angry and destructive force that left him quivering in fear. He’d prefer that to this strange Gonta that didn’t seem to have a damn clue what the hell was going on. It turned out to be a lie, just the real Gonta had no idea about that angry Gonta that existed in Ouma’s head, the real Gonta also had no idea about the events in that virtual world. 

And then it’s over. And his eyes stung. Gonta was gone. He was too late. But not anymore. Anger and confusion and grief channel all too easily into malice. Into twisted words and eyes gleaming with spite and words dripping with venom. 

Momota lunged. But he’s slower this time. Of course, he was. Ouma had not missed the shortness of breath and the coughing that had increased in frequency over the last few days. Lies were his specialty after all and Momota-chan was lying. So it’s easy to dodge and against better judgment he allows his own fist to collide with Momota’s jaw as they pass. His knuckles ache in response and his mind goes dark as expected. 

_The boy with the goatee looms over him. No one else is here this time. Not in the bathroom, it's just the two of them. He’s on the tiled ground scrambling away from the tall boy as he approaches. And as his hand moves, he flinches. But this time it’s an open hand. The tall boy is looking away. Momota-chan has some sort of strange look on his face like he’s thinking too hard. Momota-chan gives a small smile and he accepts letting his sweaty and clammy hand pull him up. The other boy grunts and tells him not to tell anyone. He won’t. They talk, it's strange and unfamiliar. But he doesn't hate it._

His face doesn’t slip even if he was confused as his vision cleared after the memory placed in his mind. Wicked and spiteful he taunted them all, relishing in the hatred in their eyes. It’s working too well, it’s too easy. They already distrusted him. Disliked him. And now he would use that in his favor. He wanted to say he doesn’t care when Saihara’s golden eyes turn cold and tell him how he should be alone. But he does. He tried not to think of the other Saihara that lived in his memories, the one who looked at him with an adoration he can’t quite understand. But he pushed that away. The memories of Momota taking their place. 

Ouma can’t make sense of the Momota-chan memories. But it changed nothing. Momota was dangerous. His stupid way of thinking would cause all sorts of problems. But that Momota in his mind with the reluctant smile pulling him up off the ground stuck. Maybe Momota was a stubborn idiot, and maybe that’s just what Ouma needed to get what he wanted. 

This world was his. He would end this game. No one else had delved so deep into the mysteries of this game. No one else had realized the blatantly obvious inconsistencies in the lies that they were being fed. He would push away those thoughts of those strange memories of his classmates. He didn’t need them. He was going to win this game by ending it on his own terms. No one else would even get close enough to put any other visions in his head. 

He was untouchable now, in more ways than one. 

* * *

He tried to avoid touching Saihara’s skin as the remote for the hangar was exchanged but he was not successful. The tiniest brush of skin sent his mind reeling again into that inky cloud of unwanted memories. 

_“Please don’t cry… I love you. I just have to do this. I’ve wanted this for so long. You know that. It’s what brought us together after all. But you can audition too. That’s perfect for us after all.” He can feel the warm tears streaming down his face and his fists clench at his sides. He bites back the cruel words he wishes he could say, he knows it won't stop the inevitable. The other boy's cool hand reached up and wiped the tears away, tenderly running his thumb across his cheek. “Okay, I will.” The words tumble from his mouth and the other boy smiles a wild kind of smile that sends a chill down his back. But it’s forgotten the moment their lips meet and he melted into him, but the tears didn’t stop as their bodies pressed together and they kissed as if they never would again in that moonlit bedroom._

Shrouded in shadows, his face twists. It hurt. Hurt more than he cared to admit. More memories to haunt his every moment. To play on endless repeat. And this was the one that would do him in. His punishment for dragging away Momota-chan from the group. To say he was doing all of this for all of them was a lie. At least partially, he never allowed himself to care too much. Even caring a little hurt way too godamn much after all. In the end, he was doing it for himself. His own selfish desire to end this game on his own terms mattered more than anything. More than his classmates, more than those stupid memories. So maybe he deserved it. Deserved to be tortured by some awful memory that he doesn’t quite understand. But he doesn’t want to try to understand what they mean. He can't try to truly care about the others. Not anymore. It was too late for that. Whether he’s lying to himself doesn’t matter anymore. If he admitted he cared... almost too much. It would make what he needed to do too hard. So he wouldn’t. 

It doesn’t matter anymore. 

* * *

And it didn't matter. No more strange memories. Shots from a crossbow didn't make his mind swim with strange thoughts. They only hurt in a normal kind of way. There was no kindness in Harukawa’s red eyes when she took that shot. No comfort from her or Momota-chan. But it would all be over soon enough. He was right. Momota was just what he needed after all to finish this for good. 

In the reflection of the shiny silver metal of the hydraulic press he saw their faces again. The cruel and uncaring Akamatsu. The Amami crying on the television. The Harukawa who comforted and hugged him. The destructive and angry Gonta. The Momota who punched him and then helped him up. But most of it is all Saihara. 

This was all for show right. For some awful audience. The funeral they had seen had been true in some ways. Whoever those people were in his mind. They were gone. They no longer existed. Whatever existed now may be some cruel joke, some twisted game, but that was what was real. What was real was the look of anger in Saihara’s eyes when he told him he would always be alone. The disappointment as he handed over the remote. That was not the Saihara-chan that lived in his mind, the one from the strange visions. The Shuichi Saihara who told him he loved him. The Shuichi Saihara with a jagged smile and a fervent gleam in his golden eyes. But he also could see the Shuichi Saihara of this world. The one who bandaged his finger with concern in his eyes. The one who had reached out a hand to him. The one he wanted to trust. The one he wanted to be able to grow closer to. But it wasn’t meant to be. Not in this world or the one of his memories. 

The press grew closer and the visions faded. Those memories would die with him just like this awful game. 

It was over. He’s tired of the pain. He can’t tell whether the poison or the memories hurt more. It didn’t matter. It was over. The game. The show. The person known as Kokichi Ouma, whoever that was. It's all over. It doesn't feel like victory should but it doesn't matter. Not any more. It was over. 

_Finally._

**Author's Note:**

> Writing a one-shot in the middle of writing a multichapter fic because of brainworms. Couldn't help it.  
> Hopefully, I won't regret editing this at 3 am when I look at it again.


End file.
